~My selfish retreat, a fraction of tranquillity in a world of chaos~

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A thousand thoughts are born, some sustaining the long night while others seem to diminish as abruptly as they are created. Succumbing to a nothingness, they vaporize into oblivion like the smoke from the wick of a blown out candle as it vanishes into thin air. Continue reading →

When he wrote words seemed to flow out of him in a never-ending sequence,one followed by another in perfect succession. He created a masterpiece giving life to the secrets buried deep within his soul. Like the magic of music flowing from a flute they too created within me a whirl of mind numbing emotions.I was lost within the moment, captivated by the power of the sentences spread across the paper unable to move as images were conjured up before my eyes. Continue reading →

I have a friend who thinks I’m a complete crack pot for filling up pages upon pages of random blog posts. He along with many others, doesn’t get the point of why my blog has me so hitched that at times I think it has permanently taken up residence in a part of my brain, screaming to be given due thought and attention.

But blogging aside, what I don’t understand is his, along with many other of my friend’s point blank refusal to read not only my blog, but any form of literature. After much observation I have come to the conclusion that there are basically two types of people in this world. Us normal mortals, who can’t go a day without some form of literally context passing under our noses, and the “abnormal” ones who would rather sit and die of boredom than even touch a book.

Both these categories of people fail to understand one another. The so-called book worms don’t get how people can overlook all that treasure, hungrily waiting to be read and absorbed-I for one, consider it one of the best past times. It’s almost like you’re inside a complete different world, somewhat of an escape. Despite that I also don’t agree with completely burying oneself inside one’s books and becoming a complete nerd, making you socially inept and incapable of distinguishing between reality and fantasy-And then there is that second category of people, who idle away their talent over useless pastimes, never going near a book for fear of catching some fatal disease. At times like that I always remember that quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero

“To each his own”

I have always wondered what brings on that complete love for reading. Maybe it’s something in the genes that has to be inherited, or maybe it’s just something which is developed over time. But there’s one thing for certain, reading is like a cigarette. You either love it or hate it, and once addicted it’s often hard to let go.